


Reasons Why

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Eren returns from his adventures outside the walls, and Jean is struck by how much he has changed--and how much he hasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's the tail end of a pleasantly warm summer, and the very last person he expects to see in his shop is Eren Jaeger.

They saved the world together, yeah, but that was back when they were fifteen, almost ten years ago. Jean hasn't seen Eren since – not since he went off to explore the world beyond the wall. For glory and knowledge and the principal of the matter, or something. For some hypothetical salty lake Jean watched Eren and Armin get misty eyed over more than once. It was the whole reason Eren joined Survey Corps to begin with, so it wasn't exactly surprising. Off Eren marched with the rest of the Survey Corps volunteers, into the great unknown, with the implication that any return would be in the far, far distant future, if at all. 

Jean didn't expect it to be today.

"You got old," Eren says. 

"So did you," Jean says. More than annoyed, though, the statement makes Jean wonder how he was able to identify Eren so immediately, the moment he walked through the door of his shop. Eren's gotten just as old as Jean, and it was a much more jarring transformation. 

He's gone from a scrawny, bug-eyed teenager to an adult, one whose adventures left him broad shouldered, confident in his stance, cheeks stubbled and skin browned attractively from the sun. New lines pressed into his face, he looks worldly, experienced, and like he probably needs to bathe. A total stranger. Jean realizes, and is startled – it's the titan Jean recognized. Eren's titan. Apparently it gave a preview at the shape and build Eren would have as a man. Human sized now, and feral only in the brightness of Eren's eyes... or maybe that was how Jean knew this stranger. Jean's only seen eyes that bright, that violently green, once. 

"You ever find that lake?" Jean asks, after clearing his throat, staring hard at the dismantled pieces of a mortise lock spread across his counter.

"Ocean," Eren says. "Yeah, we did. Yeah."

Jean nods.

"So, uh," Eren glances around the shop again. Jean really only notices the strength in Eren's forearms because it's new, how the muscles shift as he awkwardly places his hands on his hips, then moves one behind his neck. "Locks?" 

"Locks," Jean agrees. 

"… I'm staying in Mitras." Eren's tone is hopeful, almost childlike. Jean ignores that, and his own tone is blunt and to the point, almost bored, like he can't figure out why Eren is in his shop at all, like his heart isn't beating at a rapid, distracting pace in his chest.

"Why?"

"We just got back," Eren says. "We're getting debriefed... telling them everything we saw."

"Like the ocean."

"Yeah," Eren says. "And other stuff."

"That'll take some time."

"A year, I think," Eren agrees.

"Oh," Jean says, surprised.

There's another beat of silence and then Eren nods and leaves.

It was strange, but an exciting kind of strangeness, and later, when he remembers that it happened, he finds himself suppressing a smile. He finally lets himself smile as he locks up for the day, and smiles when he goes to bed.

"Eren's back," Jean says when he sees Connie again.

"No shit!" Connie says. "Armin and Mikasa?"

Jean nods, though he realizes he didn't actually ask. He figures if it was anything otherwise, it would've come up. "He's in Mitras."

"You ran into him?"

"He stopped by the shop."

"Really," Connie says. He genuinely thinks he's being subtle so Jean acts like he doesn't understand the implication. 

~

Jean's left leg ends mid-thigh. 

If the bite had been lower, just _slightly_ lower, below the knee, it would've changed everything – the replacements for a calf are easier to manage, and with enough time and some long pants, it's hard to even spot any injury at all. But there's nothing that can hide Jean's awkward gait, and he can only manage a few clumsy steps without a cane.

He can't carry more than a handful any significant distance, and it took him years to mount a horse without help. A healthy person his age would be able to walk down to the market, get his supplies for week and be back within an hour. Jean has to attach the cart to his horse, ride it the measly five blocks, shop, load the cart up, ride it back, and take each bag up to his home, one at a time. 

The annoying production usually takes the entire day, something he has to close his shop for, leaving him sweaty, exhausted and irritable.

He made good time on this trip, though, and discovers there's an extra three hours left in the working day. He grumbles to himself about it as he heads down to his shop. 

Of course he finds a customer waiting, a man, looking through the windows, shortish and blond and – 

"Armin." 

It is very easy to recognize Armin Arlert, and the pure shock of him standing there completely derails any annoyance. 

"Jean," Armin says. He's taller, a bit broader, hair longer and pinned in a knot, but unmistakably the nervous, solemn teenager Jean knew before, smiling wide.

Neither of them were especially prone to physical shows of affection as teenagers, and that hasn't changed for Jean. He's surprised by the instinctive urge to go in for a hug once he gets close enough, and gives into the natural, easy embrace. It's only really now that Jean realizes: they had grown close, hadn't they? In a subtle, steady but undeniable creep.

Jean invites him inside, though he has nothing to really offer except shelves of supplies and the dull entertainment of watching him assemble inventory. 

"There was still work you could do in Survey Corps," Armin says, looking around the shop with a critical, impassive eye. "You didn't have to retire."

"I didn't have to do a lot of things," Jean says, flatly. 

"Hm," Armin seems to agree, and spends the next hour trying his best to summarize the past ten years. Jean is beginning to remember Armin in ways he had forgotten, the almost impartial distance he keeps from the stories, sticking to facts and events rather than anything he had personally felt about it. It makes the already outlandish stories hard to follow, abstract and strange, until Armin gets to the settlement they've established, right there on the edge of that salty lake. 

"It's self-sustaining, a real city now, maybe even bigger than some of the mountain towns here," Armin says, and Jean smirks. _Maybe even_ , Jean's sure. Armin is trying to downplay it, but is obviously too proud of it to manage. Jean would bet it's the size of some of the inner districts, and probably better managed. 

"Think it'll manage without you? Eren says you'll be here a while."

"There shouldn't be any problems, we don't – " Armin stops short. "You saw Eren?"

"A few days ago," Jean shrugs. 

Armin looks inward. "He must have tracked you down as soon as we arrived." 

"Should I be flattered?" Jean scoffs, privately wondering if he actually might be. 

"Hm," Armin says again, a non-answer he's apparently picked up in his time away. Then he's back to the settlement, and their arrangements and goals, and future prospects and poorly hidden, beaming pride.

~

"You've been smiling a lot lately," Sasha says.

Jean's sitting at Sasha's table, eating Sasha's food, so he doesn't do the first thing that comes to mind, which is very rude and needlessly defensive. 

"It's Eren," Connie says.

"Shut up," Jean says, through the food.

"Eren?" Sasha says.

"Yeah! Eren's been hanging around Jean's shop. Every time I walk by."

"You haven't been _walking by_ ," Jean says, bouncing his glare from Connie to Sasha then back again. "I haven't seen you there all week."

"Yeah, that's cause I don't want to _interrupt_."

"Is it true? Jean?" Sasha says, looking oddly hopeful.

"Is what true? Eren's been around, yeah," Jean says.

"And you two are…"

Connie and Sasha both stare.

Jean's never confessed, fully, even to himself, his feelings toward Eren, at least not that he can remember. But ten years is a lot of drunken nights between friends, and it's pretty obvious Sasha and Connie both have a better understanding of the situation than he would like. 

"We're talking," Jean says, shortly, and takes a large bite of his meal to avoid answering any further questions about it. 

This seems to confirm something for them, and thankfully, the subject is dropped until he leaves their home, and waits at the door as Sasha gives him leftovers, and a punch on the shoulder.

"Tell Eren I said hi," she says. "Since he hasn't had the time to visit _me_ at home." 

"You can see him at headquarters any time you want," Jean says, frustrated – with the teasing, and his own nerves, and with everything Sasha and Connie are taking for granted. How easily they assume what Eren's visits mean, when Jean can barely dare to think about it in his own mind. 

~

News of the Survey Corps return is slow to spread at first, in the way that only good news is, with loud, scoffing skepticism then quiet, tentative hope - then almost alarming momentum once they realize it's true. The whole district is absolutely giddy about it, and Jean hears about their arrival, daily, from multiple customers. He's peppered in questions he hasn't had to answer in a while. The name Kirstein is still well known in headquarters, but not to civilians. His missing leg has them asking about his history with Survey Corps, and then Eren in particular.

"Did you meet him?" one customer asks as Jean installs a new lock on their door, cranking the drill, wiping away the excess wood as it tumbles free.

"Yeah. We met."

"What was he like??"

Jean blows at the stubborn bits of dust still clinging to the door frame, focusing on getting each speck away before answering. "A very devoted soldier," Jean eventually says, evenly, unable to really believe the surreal situation – the fervor surrounding Eren, who visited Jean's shop each day this week, and is apparently making a habit of it, if not establishing a routine. This is something Jean endures, never encouraging but not quite protesting outright. As teenagers Eren would've done what he liked regardless of Jean's opinion, but the dynamic has somehow changed in their time apart, and Jean instinctively knows to be careful with his words. There's a good chance Eren will actually listen to them.

The next time Eren shows up, Jean is polishing his hook picks. 

"You fix people's locks?" Eren asks, grabbing one and spinning it between his fingers. They're expensive, and easily dented, so Jean grabs it, and puts it back on the counter. 

"That's the general idea, yeah."

"You go to their houses?"

"If they need me," Jean says. He's on edge for a moment, thinking Eren is questioning Jean's capability, his mobility, but he's wrong. 

"I need somewhere to stay," Eren says, leaning hard against Jean's counter, chin in his hand. "The neighborhoods look different now. They're all spread out. Where's a good spot?"

For some reason this question is infuriating, and Jean doesn't understand why that is until the words are already out of his mouth. "But you're leaving again."

"Not for a while. Can't sleep in a box until then."

"You're not staying with Mikasa and everyone?"

"I am," he admits, slowly. "Mikasa hovers."

" _Still?_ " Jean says. 

"Still?" Eren repeats, as if he doesn't know.

"Ten years and you _still_ haven't settled - _that_?"

"It's settled. That's why I want a place for myself."

"Why don't you just talk to her like a goddamn adult?" Jean says, annoyance growing, trying to imagine how the past ten years must have gone. Of course Eren, who spent years with whole droves of people devoting their lives to him, Mikasa in particular giving everything, while Eren takes what he wants and knocks the rest to the ground – 

"She's not in love with me."

Jean freezes, both his movements and his thoughts. "I knew that."

"So there's nothing to talk about," Eren continues, doing the mercy of not acknowledging Jean's blatant lie. "That's just… Mikasa. She just hovers."

"Yeah. Well." Jean coughs. 

Eren smiles at Jean's blush and averted gaze. "I better get going," he says, and leaves.

~

Occasionally jobs are waiting for Jean before he opens in the morning, from unlucky bastards who locked themselves out of their home or workplace or safe or whatever else overnight. Today, there's an address just down the street stuck in his door. 

He gathers his folding stool, his tools and his bag, loads it into the cart and heads out, relieved as he approaches and sees there are no stairs, just a flat walkway, which is rare in this part of town, one that loves porches and embellishments.

He stops in pure confusion when he sees Eren, waiting by the door. 

"I said I was getting a place," Eren says when he catches Jean's flabbergasted expression. "I moved in last week."

"And you already locked yourself out?"

Eren shrugs, leaning against the wall and generally doing a very poor job of hiding just how proud of himself he is. 

"... This is a little elaborate," Jean says, pulling the folding stool from the cart, allowing Eren to take it from him and set it by the door. Jean settles down carefully, refusing to overbalance in front of Eren, of all people. 

"Would you have come if I just invited you?" Eren asks.

Jean says nothing, unsure of the answer but definitely not wanting Eren to know that. He gets to work on the lock. It's a standard model, old but well maintained and responsive, clicking happily as Jean fiddles. 

"So… why locks?" Eren asks.

Jean has to physically stop himself from asking the neediest, most pathetic thing ever; _I don't know, why did_ you _leave?_ "Why not," he says, answering for both of them. 

The truth is that the mechanics of locks came easily to Jean after daily maintenance on his gear, taught him to think in this way, in interlocking, thinly crafted bits of metal. His job can be annoying and difficult, but Jean finds it satisfying, he enjoys deconstructing these puzzles and putting them back together. He likes his shop, his job, and his life. Truly.

He exhales in time with the lock's cheery little pop as it releases. Jean finds himself smiling despite himself, then stands, slowly. 

"You want to come inside?" Eren asks, holding open the door for him. Jean glances past him – it looks like a nice house, though mostly empty. Small, practical, but there are large, obviously expensive windows in the sitting room. He looks back at Eren's face, openly hopeful, wanting to impress.

"Not today," Jean says, turning on his heel and walking back to his cart. 

~

He's almost at the end of his weekly shopping trip, his second climb up the stairs, when he sees Eren there, at the bottom step. He's got all five of Jean's bags in his arms. They're not heavy, so it's not particularly impressive. It's just not possible for Jean. 

The sight sends humiliation through him like a pike.

"Sorry," Eren says, realizing his mistake. The immediate, panicking regret in Eren's face shrinks the embarrassment down to a manageable little sting. Eren shifts awkwardly, trying to set them down at once without dropping anything. "I'll come back later."

Jean sighs and turns around, gesturing for Eren to follow. Thankfully he was already on the top, so Eren doesn't have to wait as Jean climbs clumsily, slowly, up from the bottom. 

"You should set up a pully system," Eren says, dropping the goods on Jean's table and going to the window, crossing his small home without asking. "Yeah, you could mount some ropes, here, with a bucket, and then just pull it up – "

"Remind me when I asked for your help?" Jean snaps. He regrets his harsh tone – until he sees that Eren isn't bothered, at all. 

Eren is _smirking_. 

" _What?_ "

"I didn't think you'd still be pretending not to like me."

" _Pretending_ ," Jean repeats, with a sort of half, breathless laugh. 

"It's been like, ten years," Eren says, confidence unshaken. "If I've grown up enough to actually admit I like you, you should _definitely_ be able to admit you like me." Eren's tone leaves no question about what kind of _liking_ he means. Jean's left in stunned, blushing silence. "I mean, you've always been way more honest about stuff like that." 

"'Stuff like that,'" Jean repeats. 

"Embarrassing stuff," Eren shrugs. "Stuff most people don't want to say."

It's true, Jean's always been quick to voice his thoughts, but first he has to actually have some kind of understanding of them, process them to a point that there are actual words for them. Eren's never produced words in Jean, just hot, powerful emotion. Eren doesn't make Jean think, he makes Jean _feel_ , and as a teenager that translated into shouting, and as an adult… 

As an adult he takes a breath, and can feel the edge of the hot, powerful thing Eren gave him, pressing against his heart. How it's already infected him, insidious as a fever. How even the possibility of Eren showing up lights up his day, makes his stomach clench in excitement and hope, makes him smile at nothing. It's scary, because he knows - _he knows_ how this is going to end, where it's headed, where Eren is headed, always, _always_ away, always reaching for something, and Jean cannot hope to keep up, he never could.

But Eren is right. If Jean is anything, he's honest, and if _Eren_ can admit it, despite everything, he's not about to be outdone. 

"Insulting you is a hard habit to break," Jean says, eventually. The admittance is embarrassing, and Eren is visibly smug about it, until Jean has enough and sends him away, so Jean can fume about it in peace.

~

They almost kissed.

Back when they saved the world together, back when they were fifteen. After Eren ripped the jaw off a titan that had Jean in its mouth, caught Jean and delivered him to the rearguard. Fast enough to save Jean's life, but not his leg. 

Jean had been hysterical, out of his mind, felt like he was suffocating in his own blood and the titan's, was sure he'd drown in the mess. He'd panicked even worse when Eren returned to battle. 

By the time the fight was over, Jean had composed himself. Eren had not. 

"You're alright??" Eren asked.

"I'll live," Jean said. 

Eren stood at Jean's cot, hovering over Jean's body, like he ought to be physically putting him back together, but was afraid to actually make contact. Jean gripped the sheet over his remaining leg tight; there was more than just concern in Eren's face. All pretense, all bravado, was gone. A profound fear and profound _relief_ that could only come with a certain - a certain brand of caring made Eren's eyes especially wide. The two of them had been dancing closer to it, consistently, but never voicing it, and Jean could see it now, bubbling up Eren's throat. Eren bent down, both hands resting on either side of Jean's, just a beat away from holding it between them. 

"Jean, when I saw – "

"Calm down," Jean bit out, harshly, because anything more from Eren's mouth and he'd lose his control, and anything more out of his own and his voice would shake. The aftermath of the fear, and the pain, and the way the blanket didn't hide the damage at all, dipping eerily into an empty space where his leg should've been. "I was the one that got bit, not you."

"Yeah, but – "

Jean grimaced, closed his eyes and waited for the fall...

Then Eren grinned. It was pained, though. Forced. He pulled his hands back.

"... You'll live," he agreed. 

The moment passed.

And as soon as he could go, months later, Eren was gone.

Of course it would've been ridiculous for Jean to get hung up on such a moment, on such a person. 

If Jean was younger, he would've been all blustering protests, pretending it never happened, he never cared, but Eren is right. He's gotten old, and he can admit the resentment, bitterness, the _sadness_ that he struggled with in those following years. Easily masked as struggling with his injury, his new life, but the aching, relentless core of it was always something deeper. He's since made peace with it, more or less.

It is possibly the best thing for them, honestly, that Eren left and did not come back before it had time to settle in Jean, to become an occasional, wistful, _could've been_.

But it never could've been. 

Eren was always going to leave. He'd always known it. 

"Eren Jaeger!"

An elderly customer about pisses themselves with excitement on their way out of Jean's shop, when it coincides with Eren's way in. 

"Uh, hello," Eren says, looking frazzled, glancing at Jean for help. Jean just stares back with a bit of vindictive glee, raising his eyebrow.

"Oh, oh I've heard so much about you – I have so much to ask! Do you have time now?"

"Actually, I'm – "

"Is it true, what I heard about the Garrison's role in the exploration – " 

The customer forces Eren back out into the street and Jean keeps one eye on the scene as he gets back to work. This can't be the first time this has happened to Eren, or even the tenth, or the twentieth, and yet Eren's expression through the front window is freshly horrified, growing more and more uncomfortable, until he's practically squirming in place. 

With a great sigh, Jean pulls himself upright, shuffles to the door and pokes his head out – 

" – such a wonderful thing you've been doing, I hope you realize, and – "

"Sorry," Jean interrupts. "But Mr. Jaeger has an appointment with me I have to make sure he keeps."

Eren stares with open, nearly wet-eyed relief as the customer finally toddles off, and nearly collapses against the door once he makes it inside the shop.

"Thanks."

"The least I can do for the great Eren Jaeger," Jean says, waving his hand dismissively. He freezes when it's caught, in calloused, surprisingly warm hands. He has to adjust his grip on his cane, shifting to allow for the sudden stop. Eren is staring at him, bold and sure.

"Thanks, really," Eren says.

"I – " Jean frees his hand with a firm jerk, then takes a clumsy step back.

"Sorry," Eren says.

"No," Jean says, because he doesn't want Eren to be sorry, necessarily. He doesn't know what he wants, and Eren spares him from having to make a decision. 

"I was only going to stop by anyway, I better be going."

"… You … could stay," Jean says, staring down at his remaining foot. 

"Yeah?" Eren lights up, with everything in him, and the sheer exuberance actually embarrasses Jean, especially when he realizes this must have been what Eren was waiting for, each time he left. To be told he didn't have to. 

Jean rolls his eyes, and makes a production of making it back to his side of the counter. "Fuck. Not if you're going to be smiling like that the whole time."

"Smiling like what?"

Jean grumbles a bit but is unable to answer, because the only honest way to describe it is _intimidatingly beautiful_. 

It's a lie, Eren spends the whole time with that smile and Jean doesn't kick him out until it's time to close.


	2. Chapter 2

"Pickles?" 

Jean eyes the jar in Eren's hand. _Normally_ , no. Normally, he has to account for the bag that's inevitably dropped as he fumbles up the steps or at his door, and nothing that comes in glass is worth the hassle. But Eren is with him today and can carry it, so… 

Jean nods, biting his lip and trying not to get excited over _pickles_ of all things. _Eggs_ , he suddenly remembers. He can get eggs, too – and jam.

"Squash?"

"Not if you're expecting me to eat it," Jean says, distracted by his revised shopping list. 

Eren pauses. He's forgotten himself again, and walked ahead, and now has to wait for Jean to catch up. This is not the first time they've gone out together, but Eren is still trying to get used to Jean's pace, and walks with the exaggerated slowness once he does, as though moving underwater.

"You're not that slow," Eren mutters, blushing a little when Jean points it out. 

"Last time I went to a ceremony in headquarters, they had me sit with the old men," Jean says. Thankfully, Eren reads the annoyance in his voice, the bitter acceptance, and lets it die there. 

"Rabbit... pig, goose…" Eren lists as they pass by the vendors with stacks of wet, fresh meat packaged and on display. "Doesn't seem real."

"I assumed you'd be used to meat," Jean says. "Out there in the settlement."

"Yeah, I'm used to it out _there_ ," Eren says. "Not here."

"You don't sound all that happy about it."

Eren frowns, and looks like a child. "I wanted it to be a selling point for Bodt."

Jean replays that in his head multiple times before asking, "Bodt?"

"Yeah, it's – uh," Eren is looking anywhere but Jean's face. "I thought you knew. It's the name of the settlement." 

Eren is awful at forced nonchalance, looks almost scared as he waits for Jean's reaction. 

… Well, the settlement is a product of stupid, blind optimism, bravery and principle. "It fits," Jean says.

They walk a bit longer, and Jean grabs a bag of flour, setting it in the cart.

"It was nice, saying his name again," Eren says, testing the waters after the long pause. 

There is the irrational stab of anger at feeling called out, and jealous possessiveness over Marco's memory, though he doesn't let it take hold. The only reason Jean hasn't been saying Marco's name is Jean himself. What a bitter, sour person he's become… Or always been?

"Hey! Basil!" Eren says, oblivious, and grabs four jars of it. 

There are new foods coming in from the outside of the walls all the time, but Jean doesn't really experiment with them, leaving that to Sasha. He doesn't get Eren's excitement over the spice until they're unloading it all at home. 

"Smell," Eren says, unscrewing the lid, passing it under Jean's nose. It's a heady, rich scent that makes Jean's stomach clench in sudden hunger. "You put it on tomatoes, it's – shit." Eren is looking over the groceries. There are no tomatoes. "I'll be right back, alright?" 

"Alright," Jean says, amused by his excitement and slowly putting the groceries away. 

When Eren returns, he's carrying a box of tomatoes and a bottle of wine that he's oddly bashful about.

Without asking, Eren makes use of Jean's kitchen, and Jean sets the table. 

The basil is better than he expected, and he had expected a lot. 

~

"It's an animal that lives in the water, but it doesn't have a face or anything."

" _Really?_ "

"It looks like a sack – there's no fins, no tail, it just floats – and you can see through it."

"Really." This time it's Jean, voice quite a bit flatter and disbelieving than Connie's. 

"Yeah, and it has its organs on the outside, and they kind of dangle under its body," Sasha says. "And the organs are full of poison. They're dangerous."

Connie is still staring, enraptured, but at this point Jean actively rolls his eyes. 

"Mikasa described it as the worst pain she ever felt in her entire life."

Sasha says this part so simply, as though it is not the most outlandish part of her story, or any story, that it stops Jean completely. 

"Mikasa said that?"

"Yeah, the organs wrapped around her arm and she said the pain was so bad she blacked out. She was in the water, so she almost drowned, except Eren was there," Sasha says. She's been working in headquarters, and spent a whole week observing the debriefings of the Survey Corps. She's remarkably calm about it all as she goes on. "Eren ripped it off her, and ended up getting dragged down by the thing, he more or less died – they're not sure, once they pulled him out of the water and got it out of his lungs, he started breathing again."

The pencil in Jean's hand snaps. He blinks at it in surprise, having forgotten he was holding it at all.

"But they're fine!" Sasha says, quickly. "They're both okay. It was a long time ago."

There's proof of this story, in long, red, and almost beautiful scars that wrap around Mikasa's wrist and arm in thin, looping spirals. 

But Eren will never scar. Eren will never be anything less than whole, there will never be evidence on Eren's body of the miles he's walked, the walls he's knocked down, the people he's saved or the monsters he's killed. 

The only evidence, in Eren, is what he'll remember and say about it. The questions he's asked and the people who are willing to listen. 

They've got a routine now, casual and easy going, usually consisting of Eren following after Jean on his daily routine around the city. Sometimes Jean will try to make it special, something to remember, while hiding this fact as much as possible from Eren. 

But Jean is still quick to get flustered, prone to awkwardness at the worst possible times. Eren shows up for their usual time together, and Jean asks, like an idiot, "Are you free?"

"… Yeah?" Eren says.

"Do you want to – are you ready for guests?"

"Where?"

"Where else?" Jean snaps, sweating. He feels like an idiot, and is struggling not to call Eren an idiot as a consequence. "At your house." 

"… You want to come over?" Eren says, laughing a little as he figures it out. He laughs harder when he sees Jean's ears going red. He pushes into Jean's personal space, voice both amused and annoyingly deep. "Then just _ask_."

"Can I come over," Jean says, biting the inside of his cheek to brace against his own stupid embarrassment. He's not a teenager, why does he always struggle so hard with this? But then, it's only when it's Eren. The question answers itself once he realizes. 

It turns out that, no, Eren's house is an empty shell and not ready for guests, but it doesn't dissuade Jean at all.

~

He wants to hear Eren's scars, he wants to be the person who listens. The urge comes to him as all important wants have, a powerful, obsessive thing that narrows his focus to a single need. This is the interest – the relationship – the _almost_ – that Jean had such a hard time recovering from in the first place, and it took such an obvious, stupid epiphany to bring it rushing back at full force: there are things about Eren that Jean does not know, and Jean wants to know them. Someone has to know them, someone ought to know them, and Jean knows he's the best one for it. 

"You never let me get away with anything," Eren says one night – they've started spending most afternoons together, and that bled easily to evenings. 

"Well someone had to," Jean mutters. 

"I thought about you all the time," Eren says. He is not embarrassed by this confession, looking up at the stars. "Usually when I messed up."

"I'm flattered," Jean says, flat.

"Exactly. Exactly like that," Eren says, and his smile is pleased. "Armin would've told me what I meant to say, and Mikasa wouldn't contradict me at all, but you're just..."

"An asshole?"

"Honest," Eren says. "And you're smart and you're right, a lot. So. I wished you were there. To tell me what I needed to hear."

Jean feels the empty space of what he's supposed to say. That he wishes he could've gone, and that circumstances were beyond his control. But as much as Eren says he enjoys Jean's honesty, he doesn't think he wants to hear this one. So Jean takes a breath and gives him another, slightly more pleasant truth. 

"I've been thinking about you. A lot," Jean says. "More than I should. More than I want to admit."

"I wanted to kiss you."

"I know."

"I want to kiss you." 

Jean moves up to his elbow. He leans over Eren's body. "Then _ask_."

Eren doesn't ask, but his kiss is a chaste, tentative thing, until Jean responds, then it's opened mouthed and desperate and Eren whines, softly, like it's too good, like it _hurts_ , how good it is. 

His hand lands on Jean's side, then clumsily pulls at the fabric of his shirt until it's untucked, revealing flesh for him to run his warm hands over, sliding under the shirt and up Jean's back, and he's suddenly tipping over, on top of Eren. Now it's body against body, and it can't stay chaste like this. 

They have sex, outdoors, under the stars.

Afterward, pressed together in a filthy mess that neither of them seem to mind, Eren talks. 

"There are mountains – like in Yalkell, but lots of them, in huge lines, _hundreds_ of them," Eren says. "And bigger – and it's always cold at the top! It's always like winter, always snowing! And the rivers – there are rivers that run up the mountains, but suddenly drop, so it's a wall of water, miles high."

As he talks, Jean realizes this is what Eren has been waiting to share, what he's been wanting to say. The truest expression of Eren, and he's practically shaking with how much he means it, how important it is to him, gripping Jean tighter against himself as he speaks.

"If you go far enough, the stars change," he says, picking up pace, voice definitely shaking now. "And the ocean is so deep – so deep, Jean, we can't see the bottom, Armin says he's not sure if there _is_ a bottom, or if there is one it's so far down it doesn't even matter."

This is is Eren's profession of love, as explicit as the word itself. He is offering Jean these things, the most important, best things he knows, wants Jean to hold them, and know them, alongside him. Like most things about Eren, it's almost terrifying.

"Was it worth it?" Jean asks. Was it worth leaving? Will it be worth leaving again?

He doesn't know why he asks. He knows the answer is yes. 

Eren stares. He looks heartbroken. 

Eren knows just as well as Jean, but it's equally obvious that he is never going to admit it, that he knows the pain it would bring. They kiss, and it's fierce, intense, a fight, but not against each other. Against everything else in the world; the mountains and bottomless bodies of water that will call Eren away again. 

Jean expected to be hurt by this, but the hopelessness and guilt in Eren's kiss and in his face when he pulls away is heartening. Proof of how much Jean's feelings matter to Eren, more genuine and meaningful because it's an ugly thing, something Eren would probably prefer wasn't true. Jean smiles and drops his arm over his eyes. 

"I'm glad you found your lake."

"It's not a lake," Eren says. "It's the ocean."

"It's a big fucking lake."

"You'll get it when you see it."


End file.
